crescendo
by glitter cordite
Summary: But he was alive, and so was she, and that was enough for now. oneshot


**disclaimer: **all I have is an inane amount of coffee and a fixation with jean's shirt… (oh god that collar hnnng)

**because: **two consecutive tech weeks make me all tweaky and artistic.

**for: **_Giselle, _because she's the most perfect beta anyone could ever ever ask for. and _Tay, _because her and her art just kick all the ass.

* * *

**cre·scen·do **

_a gradual increase in loudness or intensity_

This was never supposed to happen again, Mikasa thought, resting her chin on her knee. (_Bone on bone, grounding her thoughts with pressure.) _Their last excursion past the walls had been a fiasco, comrades lost at the fault of people considered "friends". Mikasa clenched her teeth, focusing on the way it drove the bone harder against her knee. She was never supposed to lose him, lose any of her family, again. Her precious people were supposed to stay safe, even if it cost her her life. This world was cruel, and it's beauty only held true if your precious people were there to enjoy it with you.

Not if they were lying on a shabby cot in the Legion's medical ward in a comatose state.

Mikasa closed her eyes and strained to count the shallow breaths falling from Eren's lips. Too shallow, too close to stopping. At least he was back, it could feasibly be worse. (Leaping through the trees, titans howling, hope so very far away.) He could be dead, or gone, or have fallen in with their traitorous comrades.

The bastards. How many had lost their lives because of _their_ poor decisions? How many lives had been upturned? Families shattered? The young soldier fought back a sob, teeth clenching. It was unfair. It was unfair and it was painful and it was beyond her control. It was like the sun, always rising, always bringing the day, _always lending the Titans it's power again. _The decisions of two individuals had shattered the whole world, (_her _whole world.) and she could do nothing to rectify it. (Nothing but kick and scream and kill as many bastard Titans as she could.)

She felt powerless (_and broken and alone and too strong for too long_), curled up in a stiff backed chair watching her last kin sleep. (_Too still, too still. Obviously unnatural._) It had been almost exactly a week since their team had returned, bruised and battered, but still alive. (Still alive and with Eren, which was a victory in and of itself.) And in that time the young Ackerman had hardly left the room, holding vigil in silence and solitude. A solitude occasionally broken by worried squad mates and Jean, always Jean.

The man in question had only been released from his own medical ward a few days ago, and had since made a point of staying by her side as much as he was able. (Which had hardly been any time at all, but she understood.) She had felt guilty for hardly visiting his bedside, but she had had her own injuries (fractured ribs, serious abrasion on her torso) to attend to, and she had been so worried about Eren. (Titan induced tree collisions be damned, she would make sure he was okay.) Jean understood though, she could tell by the way he held her, kissing the crown of her head and gently rubbing her back. (She tried to ignore the way his shirt was still bulky from bandages, and how he had to ease into chairs.) But he was alive, and so was she, and that was enough for now.

Sighing, and wiping a few tears (damned physical manifestation of her weakness) from her face, the dark girl curled inwards a little more and hid her face in her lap. Still more fell as she closed her eyes, counting breaths and heartbeats and tears.

The sun began to fall and her stomach growled, a little more light left and she stole another glance at Eren's prone form, bowing her head again after a spell. (_Too still, too still._)

As twilight fell across the horizon, and her eyes began to dry, there was a soft knock, followed by the sound of the door easing open. Reverie broken, Mikasa brought her head up, watching as Jean entered the room, lean form moving with his usual grace. (She could see the telltale bulk beneath his shirt, her chest panging.) Long legs closing the gap between them quickly, he crouched down in front of her, bringing their eyes level.

"Mikasa, you need to take a break."

Neck stiff, the girl shook her head, she had come so close to losing him. (_And Jean, and all of her precious people, too close, too close.)_

"Mikasa, locking yourself away isn't going to help Eren at all," familiar hands came to rub at her sides. (She fought the urge to cringe, she didn't deserve his touch, she couldn't save him. _Either of them._)

Tawny eyes narrowed and the man gently held her chin, tilting her face to catch her (foggy) gaze.

"You do, please, just for a little while." He paused to rise, offering her a calloused hand.

Reluctantly, Mikasa took the proffered hand, instantly glad of the contact. His hands were so warm, enveloping her smaller ones and anchoring her with ease. Jean smiled down at her, bringing his other palm up to brush some hair out of her face.

"I've missed you."

She smiled, and stood on her toes to kiss him.

(She'd missed _him_ more than she'd ever be able to verbalize.)

Breaking away softly, Jean tugged on her hand and started to lead her away, allowing her one last glance before sweeping her into the hall.

* * *

The Scouting Legion was an excellent example of social hierarchy. New recruits were not only forced to bunk together in sets of two, but all had to share a communal bath. (After one gained rank, they were allowed a single dorm with a small, private bath.) The large room was warm and dimly lit, condensation dripping from the ceiling and the air thick with moisture. Rough, fraying towels were hung outside by the door, next to the rationed out toiletries. Knocking briskly on the heavy oak door, Jean shouldered it open and grabbed two ratty towels as Mikasa walked in.

Hanging the towels one of the provided pegs, Jean turned to find Mikasa looking out over the warm bath. Steam rose from its surface and the man could already feel it clinging to his neck and hair. With a practiced shrug, he shed his jacket and began to roll up his sleeves as he walked towards the pale girl.

"Let me help," he murmured, finishing up his sleeves and quickly undoing the first few buttons of his shirt.

The young soldier stepped towards him, and leaned into his touch as he unwrapped her scarf and helped to remove the heavy leather jacket. Mikasa admired his strong back as he turned away to hang her garments, how a man so world weary had come to be so tender and compassionate was beyond her. War wasn't supposed to do that to people, yet here they were. (She started on the buttons to her blouse.)

About halfway through unbuttoning her shirt, the tawny man returned, taking over her task with nimble fingers. Condensation clung to her skin, and by the time Jean had pushed the starched white shirt off her shoulders (kisses falling upon the exposed skin like a prayer) she let out a sigh of relief.

The rest went quickly, pants were folded and set aside, tight black sports bra and spandex shorts following until the young Ackerman stood, exposed, at the side of the tub. Soft footsteps approached from behind, and a light kiss pressed to the nape of her neck.

"Ready to get in?" Jean asked, calloused palms coming up to gently rub at her back.

Closing her eyes, Mikasa nodded, and visualized all of the stress (_and guilt and fear and-_) melting away as she stepped into the warm water.

* * *

Jean watched as the woman he loved slowly submerged herself in the hot bath, dark hair fanning in the water like a corona. Bubbles streamed from her lips in a flurry before she broke the surface, head tilted back and sodden hair plastered to her shoulders. She turned to face him, and he beckoned her closer, dipping his hands into the water and lathering up as she drew near. Reaching out and drawing her in, he began to massage her shoulders, soap coating her skin as he went.

When he had scrubbed and massaged and cleaned her whole body, Jean pressed another kiss beneath Mikasa's ear, breath deceptively cool against her hot skin as he bid her to submerge again. The young soldier did as she was told and was rewarded by Jean's hands coming to delicately cradle the back of her skull, lengthening her spine and tilting it back to rest against the rim of the tub. Her eyes slid closed as he began to shampoo her hair.

Strong fingers massaged along her scalp, starting at the base and working their way up to the crown of her head, where they then descended forward to play along her hairline and linger at her temples. Jean's low voice would cut through the warm, moist air occasionally, asking her to rinse her hair, or turn her head slightly. She would always comply, a blissful sigh escaping her lips as he continued to clean, hands every so often descending to rub along her arms or neck.

"Alright, last rinse," he said, as he rinsed and dried his hands. She obliged (a little reluctantly) and slid underneath the water again, the soap melting away from her hair like dew in the sun.

The water wrapped around her, warming her bones and easing her heart (though not nearly as much as Jean's touch had). Waiting until her body's demand for oxygen was too great to ignore, she broke the surface, breathing the moist air in deep and feeling as if the world had been taken off her shoulders.

"It's getting late, let's dry off."

Smiling sleepily she rose fully, stepping out of he tub and into the towel Jean was holding. Once wrapped in it, she leaned against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, and trying desperately not to fall asleep as he dried her hair. Arms wrapped around her, and she absentmindedly noted the sound of a towel being thrown on the floor.

"Ready to get dressed?" He asked lowly, hands already working along her towel wrapped form, rubbing and buffing at her dewy skin. The girl shook her head groggily, and buried her nose into the crook of his neck. He smelled like sandalwood and spice and she felt herself inevitably melting into him.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest and dark eyes blinked up at him owlishly, displeased with the sudden noise.

"Mikasa, I am not going to carry you back to my dorm clad only in a towel. At least put your shorts and shirt back on."

Wrinkling her nose, the slight girl let him help her into her clothing, stifling yawns the whole time. As he finished buttoning up her shirt (he had only gone up as far as modesty demanded, and Mikasa was glad for the air playing across her collarbone.) he pressed a kiss to her temple and slowly lifted her into his arms.

"Let's go to bed," he said as she nodded into his neck. The current situation wasn't perfect by any means. Her brother was still comatose, her squad was in disarray and it felt like the whole world was flung off its axis. She knew she wouldn't be able to fix everything, and she knew she was going to take worse spills than this. (_Lose more comrades, lose more hope_) But she also knew that she'd have Jean by her side till the end, always waiting with open arms and soft eyes.


End file.
